Chapter 10 - The Horizon Line
The private jet climbed steadily through the pale gray clouds, banking westward toward the Atlantic.
Zara sat in seat 2A—the exact same window seat where her journey had begun two days ago. Down below, the coast of England dissolved into a vast, unbroken expanse of white clouds catching the afternoon sun.
She turned away from the window and looked down at the mahogany box resting on the seat beside her. Inside sat the silver key her father had given her in the boardroom, alongside her mother’s unread personal journals that David had quietly handed her before she boarded the aircraft.
Her phone buzzed on the armrest. A text from her father: Approaching New York airspace in six hours. We have a board meeting to prepare for on Monday. Your office is being reconfigured.
Zara stared at the screen for a long moment. She didn't reply right away. Instead, she opened the first journal to a page near the back—a page she hadn't seen during her frantic search in the LSE archives.
In her mother’s neat, flowing handwriting, a final sentence was written across the margin, underlined twice: “Never let them convince you that power is something you inherit, Zara. Power is something you choose to protect.”
The cabin door chimed softly as Elizabeth Hart walked down the aisle, carrying a tray with a glass of sparkling water and a small plate of shortbread. She paused beside seat 2A with a warm, genuine smile.
“Everything alright, Miss Coleman?” Elizabeth asked.
May you like
Zara looked up from the journal, her expression calm, centered, and entirely grown into its own skin.
“Everything is fine, Elizabeth,” Zara said, sliding the notebook into her bag and turning back to look out the window at the endless horizon stretching out before her. “In fact, everything is just beginning.”
